


Happy New Year, Mr Holmes

by PipMer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Life Partners, M/M, New Year's Fluff, New Year's Kiss, Pre-Slash, Romance, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 10:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: Sometimes risks must be taken in order to move forward.





	1. December 30

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [С Новым годом, мистер Холмс! (Happy New Year, Mr Holmes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266987) by [PulpFiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PulpFiction/pseuds/PulpFiction)



> This was written for the Watson's Woes Advent challenge over on dreamwidth. Happy New Year, everyone!

 

John swallowed his tea, forcing it past the lump in his throat. The lump that matched the knot in his stomach. He kept having to stop himself from clenching and unclenching his left hand. Mrs Hudson peered at him from over the rim of her cup, her mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

“I’m sure you’re anxious over nothing, dear. Sherlock will be in agreement. You two always seem to be on the same wavelength these days. Have you discussed it with him?”

John cleared his throat. “Well… not per se, no. Not as a definite thing. He’s expressed interest. But you know him, Mrs H. Things catch his attention quickly, then they’re just as fast to fade away. Nothing keeps his interest for long.”

“Except for crime scenes. And you.” Mrs Hudson winked.

John blushed. “Mrs Hudson, how many times do I have to tell you - “

“Was that my timer? I think it was. Sit tight, young man, I’ll be back in a tic with those scones you like.”

John chuckled as his landlady got up to check on her baking. It had been awhile since anyone had called him a ‘young man’. Even Sherlock didn’t have quite the spring in his step that he used to. Mrs Hudson was no spring chicken either, of course. Time was passing by, and it was doing so quickly.

That’s why John had decided that it was Time. Before they really were too old. No time like the present, it was said. Well, the present kept sliding into the future, and someday there would be no tomorrows left.

Get a grip, Watson, John chided himself. This is supposed to be a good thing, not a death knell. A new beginning, a new chapter begun. So on and so forth.

But what would Sherlock say? Would he be angry that John had gone ahead and arranged this behind his back? Or would he be pleased, relieved that they were still on the same page after all these years?

There was no telling, was there, until the revelation had been made. John had a pretty good grasp on Sherlock’s state of mind, but he was no master at deduction himself. He thought he was reading the signs correctly, but there was always room for misinterpretation. Especially when it came to the world’s only consulting detective.

He had asked for advice from them all. Mrs Hudson, Greg, Mycroft, Molly, even Angelo. They had all encouraged him to take this step, assuring him that Sherlock would be delighted. Surely they wouldn’t steer him wrong. And they all had known Sherlock far longer than John had, and therefore arguably knew him better.

Well, the deed was done. There was nothing for it but to go forward. He just hoped Sherlock wouldn’t think him presumptuous. Then again… nothing ventured, nothing gained. Right?

“Here you are, dear.” Mrs Hudson startled John out of his thoughts when a plate of scones clattered in front of him. “And let me refresh your tea, too.”

“Ta, Mrs H.”

“So.” Mrs Hudson situated herself comfortably on her chair and took up her tea. “Where’s that young man of yours tonight? Out on a case, or at Barts?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The assumptions would never cease, apparently. “Actually he’s out with Molly on one of their ‘date nights.’”

“Date nights? But I thought Molly and that nice inspector - “

“They are. Sherlock and Molly don’t go on actual dates, it’s just what they call their little get-togethers. Sometimes they hang out at her place, sometimes they go out somewhere -- I really don’t keep track.”

“Are you sure they - “

“Yes, Mrs H. They’re just friends. Greg’s planning on proposing to Molly actually, after the New Year.”

Mrs Hudson clapped her hands and beamed. “How delightful! There’ll be a wedding to look forward to! Isn’t that exciting?”

John frowned into his cup. “Yes, of course. Weddings are always a thing to celebrate.”

“Now John, I know that look. Are you brooding? I know this year’s been a rough one, for everybody, but a new beginning is just around the corner. If you know where to look for it. Or,” she placed her finger alongside her nose, “if you’re brave enough to face it. Are you brave, Dr Watson?”

John stroked the items in his jacket pocket. The shape of them grounded him, steadied him. Made him ready to face the future -- his and Sherlock’s. Together. Just the two of them against the rest of the world.

A set of keys on a brand new key chain. All set to unlock the way to the rest of their lives.

 

 


	2. December 31

 

John sat in his chair and watched as Sherlock played the violin, swaying in front of the window. Night had fallen, and the lampposts outside illuminated the gently falling snow. The light inside brought out the auburn undertones in Sherlock’s hair, as well as revealing the silver that had just started making itself known at his temples. Sherlock would age beautifully, John thought -- _was_ aging beautifully. They had known each other for fifteen years now. The very best of friends, joined at the hip. Inseparable.

Anxiety started to claw its way up John’s throat; he ruthlessly quashed it down. He remembered Mrs Hudson’s words. He was brave enough to face this.

He cleared his throat. “Sherlock?” he said.

Sherlock stopped playing and turned to face him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

John swallowed. He stood up, and walked to within a foot of Sherlock before stopping.

“I got you something. Call it a New Year’s Eve present. Thought it would be a good time for it. Instead of New Year’s resolutions, which always get broken anyway. Wanted to do something -- tangible. Sorry, I know I’m rambling.”

Sherlock’s eyes twinkled. He placed his violin in its case and then straightened to give John his full attention. “You’re doing well so far.”

“Great. Um. Yeah. Anyway.” John held out his hand, fingers curled into a fist. Bemused, Sherlock held out his own hand, palm up.

John opened his fist, and out fell a keychain containing two keys, the larger one silver and the smaller one gold. The keychain itself was attached to a miniature skull carved from malachite. Sherlock’s jaw dropped open.

“John… what is this? What are these for? Surely you didn’t buy me a car.”

John cracked a smile, his nervousness ebbing. “No. Remember that case we took in Sussex? Afterwards we ran across that cottage for sale near Brighton, the one with the beehives out back? You insisted that we stop to check it out, and, well… you seemed enamored of it. Spoke of how you’d like to retire to such a place someday. That the Downs had always held a special place in your heart.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop staring at the keys nestled in the palm of hand. His thumb stroked the smooth green skull. “You bought me a house?”

John’s stomach did a funny swoop. “Well… us. It’s for us, actually. I have my own set of keys as well. But not to live in full-time! Not at first, anyway. I know you’re nowhere near ready to retire yet. It can be there for weekends, or anytime we feel like getting away from it all for a spell. The previous owners don’t mind serving as caretakers for awhile. Their main home isn’t that far away. I -- “ John rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy.

“It has two bedrooms,” he blurted out. “And a breakfast nook that looks out into the garden, I thought it would be a good space for me to -- to do my writing. Maybe consolidate all of our cases and make it into a novel. While you, I dunno, research bees and harvest honey? For us to eat and also to sell? Maybe?”

John’s words stuttered to a halt as he realised Sherlock was staring at him with laser sharp focus, unblinking. He had no idea what was going on inside the detective’s head, and it was making him very, very nervous.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked. His eyes widened, and his face suddenly brightened.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock murmured, awe lacing his tone. He grabbed John’s face, leaned in, and placed a dry enthusiastic kiss right on John’s lips. The kiss lingered for a few seconds before Sherlock drew away with a _smack_. His eyes glittered in the low lighting.

John flushed a deep crimson. Well. That was unexpected.

Sherlock enthused, “John, you are brilliant,” before dancing away into the kitchen. It wasn’t until the sound of a champagne bottle popping open reached his ears that John stirred.

“I am?” he asked as Sherlock waltzed back into the sitting room with two champagne glasses filled to the brim. Sherlock pressed one of them into John’s hand. He grinned.

“Of course. Because guess what I got *you*?”

“Er… what?”

“Well, ordered. A mahogany desk. A proper one, where you can do proper writing. And you can use the second bedroom for your writing space, since that also looks out onto the garden. I’ll put in an order for matching bookcases as well, round out your area good and proper.”

“But that won’t leave any room for my bed, wardrobe, bedside table and chest of drawers.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Oh,” John said. “ _Oh_. You mean - what happened earlier. You want to - continue with that? Pursue things in that direction?”

“John,” Sherlock purred.  “You know my methods. Apply them.”

At that very moment, the clock started to strike midnight. As the strokes counted down, Sherlock and John gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Happy New Year, Mr Holmes,” John said.

“Happy New Year, Dr Watson,” Sherlock rejoined.

They grinned, clinked their glasses together, and drained them dry. Then, on the last stroke, they came together as they were always meant to, their caresses gentle and their kisses electric.

 

This year, John Watson took a risk. He was brave, despite his fear.

And now, in the coming year, he will reap the rewards of his courage and devotion.

 

Happy New Year, indeed.

 


End file.
